


Black Hair

by Khaelis



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaelis/pseuds/Khaelis
Summary: This was what she had missed the most.
Relationships: Bayonetta/Jeanne (Bayonetta), Cereza/Jeanne (Bayonetta)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 58





	Black Hair

**Author's Note:**

> I made a huge mistake when deciding to play Bayonetta again.   
> I kinda have periods of time when I'll be obsessed with one thing, and it happens that right now I'm obsessed with that game again. 
> 
> So here we go, fluffy one-shot, because I actually missed these two a lot!
> 
> I hope you'll like it! :)

* * *

This was what she had missed the most.

Not the feeling of her body against hers.

Not the feeling of her fingers between hers.

Not the feeling of her lips against hers.

Not holding her so close their heartbeats drummed the most ferocious love song and echoed through their chests in a single melody.

Not kissing her with a passion and a desire burning so hot their lips became chafed and their breath scorching. 

Not making love to her, sweet and tender, bodies moving and shivering, fingers drawing silent confessions over pale skin and eyes translating their deepest emotions with one look, one blink, one flutter of an eyelid.

Of course she had missed those things. For five hundred years, she had been denied them, condemned to feel nothing more than pain and sadness, the memories of those treasured times wounds that cut deep into her heart and soul.

She was healed, now. Almost completely. 

But it was _this_ , that she had missed the most, that brought her the most comfort, the most joy, the most relief.

Their bedroom was quiet, save for the quiet background street noise that seeped in through the open window. And  _ her _ soft hums of pleasure, purrs that rumbled low in  _ her _ throat. 

Jeanne could not describe how that sound made her feel. Nostalgic, probably. The good kind of nostalgia, because she remembered all those times she had heard that sound all those years ago. It might have been quieter then, for fear that they would get caught doing such an intimate and obscene act in a corner of a damp and gloomy cell.

Now, they were alone. No one lurking in the corridors, no one around to stumble upon this erotic moment shared between two witches who had hopelessly fallen in love. 

It felt heavy in her hand, its raven black catching the soft glow of the lamp, giving its length a sheen of tiny gleaming diamonds. It was a rare sight to see the beautiful hair falling around her delicate face, no complicated hairdo that made her look even taller than she was, no twists and knots, no red ribbons or intricate chains weaved into the black locks.

_That_ was what she had missed the most. 

Brushing her hair. 

For an Umbra witch, there was nothing more intimate, nothing that spoke of trust and love louder than letting another touch it.

Hair gave witches power and strength. Hair was a weapon and a shield. Hands in that hair could be compared to hands wrapped around a neck, in a way. It could soothe tensed muscles with tender gestures or choke life out with hard squeezes.

"I believe you have brushed my hair more in an hour than I did in over twenty years, my Dear."

Jeanne could hear the smile in those words, perfectly picture the elegant curve of her lips and the soft glint in her eyes. She put her hairbrush aside and let the strands slip between her fingers. She could not help it. She just had to run her fingers through the dark hair again.

"I missed it," she replied with a small shrug, as if compelled to apologise for indulging in that kind of pleasure too much. "That is why I opted for short hair soon after… After it all happened. I could not bear to wake up and mistake the feel of it for yours. Thinking you were lying next to me, close, when you were so far away. I had gotten used to waking up to the smell and the feel of your hair, and the constant reminder was too painful."

"I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like," she answered with an unusual softness, cheek and haughtiness gone from her voice. "But we are here now, my Dear, and I will never let another five hundred years tear us apart."

"Cereza…"

  
  


The black-haired witch turned around with as much grace her long legs allowed her to, slender fingers finding their way to Jeanne's cheek.

She kissed her, a brush of her lips against hers, but all Jeanne could really feel was the black hair tickling her skin. It was that feeling that mattered. The energy, the power emanating from that black hair that made her heartbeat stutter and her whole body shiver. The only thing she had desperately tried to pretend she could find in other people during her long absence, a pointless enterprise that always failed to provide her with even a thread of comfort.

Jeanne kissed her back, harder, and pulled her down on top of her as she lied down against the warm pile of pillows. She loved the weight of her body, loved its heat, its softness, the silk of her skin and the tenderness of her touch. Solid, real. Hands roaming over her back, her arms, her thighs, everywhere they could reach. Chest heaving against hers, neck straining to capture her mouth when it went away to release breathy moans.

But what she loved the most was the hair falling all around her in a cascade of black. She had never liked darkness so much than in that moment.

When she would wake up the morning later, wrapped around her lover's body, she would smile and shed a silent tear. She would know the hair under her cheek, between her fingers, against her nose, was  _ hers _ .

* * *


End file.
